


pretend that's good enough

by peachnectarsoda



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Draco Malfoy Loves Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is Harry's Treasure, Established Relationship, F/M, Harry Potter Loves Draco Malfoy, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Relationship Reveal, Secret Relationship, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachnectarsoda/pseuds/peachnectarsoda
Summary: “Come seek us where our voices sound,We cannot sing above the ground,An hour long you'll have to look,To recover what we took.”Maybe they stole some of his Galleons? Harry doesn’t care what stupid treasure these mermaids have got. All he cares about is that Draco promised to meet with him before the second task to wish him good luck, and he can’t find him anywhere.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom & Ron Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 301





	pretend that's good enough

Harry casts a quick  _ Tempus  _ charm again. Only three minutes have passed since the last time he cast it, yet now he’s even antsier than he was before. Draco promised last afternoon that he would meet up with Harry under the guise of wishing him good luck for the second task, though Harry just assumed they were going to make out for a bit. Harry might have accidentally said something to upset him, but he honestly can’t think of a single thing he’s said recently that would anger Draco so horribly that he wouldn’t show up. Harry sighs, his eyes flickering around the dark closet. When he had first entered, he had been engulfed by the darkness, but now his eyes are adjusting and he can make out the shapes of assortments of boxes holding various magical artifacts, mostly for cleaning up all the kinds of disastrous messes that hundreds of teenagers being bunched up in a castle are bound to produce. It had been Draco’s idea to meet up in this particular closet, which was strange because it’s more cramped than what they’re used to and the common rooms are all empty now anyway, since everyone’s on their way or at the Black Lake. Now Harry’s mind is starting to wander back to the possibility that Draco is mad at him, and Harry waiting solemnly in a dark closet is his idea of a practical punishment. Draco isn’t a person who goes back on his promises, and he certainly isn’t a person who goes back on his promises that involve kissing Harry.

Needless to say, Harry’s worried, even though Draco doesn’t like it when he worries about him. He says it’s not his place, since they aren’t dating. That- obviously- does not stop Harry from worrying, or from wishing Draco would agree to date him properly so they wouldn’t have to meet up in dark closets or abandoned classrooms to make out. Regardless, no amount of whining or pining can get Draco to budge. It’s always something along the lines of:

“Draco, if there are any problems, we can figure it out together.”

And then:

“No, we can’t. I don’t want to deal with the publicity and the hatred and my  _ father.  _ You’re not worth all that.”

And then, because, despite his best efforts to keep himself trained, Harry’s face always falls every time Draco says something extraordinarily rude without meaning to, Draco’s expression will soften and he’ll lean forward and:

“Sorry. Sorry. I just meant… Just- oh, shut up and kiss me, Potter!”

And who’s Harry to refuse?

Eventually, the clock is coming dangerously close to the beginning of the second task and he realizes with a tug in his gut that he’ll just have to skip out on seeing Draco. He probably just forgot, is all, and Harry will be able to make brief eye contact with Draco before he plummets into the lake for an hour and he’ll just have to pretend that’s good enough.

It’s not good enough, but Draco doesn’t want people to know. Harry obliges.

He walks out on the castle, doomed to start the task without the help of his best friends or… whatever Draco is. Hermione has had a strange absence, too, which sent Ron on a journey around the castle to ask anyone he could find if they’d seen Hermione and to let her know he’s looking for her if they do. If Draco wasn’t so stubborn, he’d do the same for him, but Harry Potter gallivanting around the castle asking for Draco Malfoy is enough to stir alarm in the whole wizarding community, let alone Hogwarts.

“Harry!” As Harry is making his way down the dock to board one of the boats to take him to the platform, a voice calls out for him. He whips around, hoping to see Ron with Hermione in tow, who had been missing on the account of being in the library and had found a brilliant idea that would be sure to grant him an easy victory. Or, even better, maybe it’s Draco jogging up to him. Maybe he’d give him a polite nod and quiet well-wish that could be mistaken for a rude comment by someone who was looking at the two out of earshot. In the end, it wasn’t Draco who came up to him, but his best friend, Ronald Weasley. However, instead of being paired with his other best friend Hermione Granger, it’s Neville Longbottom who is scurrying after him. The shorter boy had Gillyweed enclosed in his glove-shrouded palm and held it out to Harry for the task. “Harry! There you are, we had just given up! Good you’re here- everyone thought you’d be late! Here’s the Gillyweed.” Neville passes it over to Harry, who takes it, grateful. Far off in the lake, Harry spots a gaggle of three Slytherin boys sitting in a boat, but none of them are Draco.

Harry looks skeptically at the plant in his palm, and then back up to his nervous friend. “You're sure about this, Neville?”

Although Ron pulls an uncomforting face, Neville nods decisively as the three boys start walking together to board one of their own boats. The platform isn’t too far away, but Harry is glad he has the company of two friends for the trip. If this Gillyweed doesn’t work, it might be his last few moments alive. Neville confirms, “Absolutely.”

“For an hour?”

“Most likely.” He shrugs.

Harry stills. “Most likely?”

Ron slaps his hand against his forehead and slides it down and Neville looks at him guiltily. “I told you that wouldn’t be reassuring, Neville! You should have just lied!” Ron groans, looking at the plant then back at Neville like he handed Harry a bomb with three seconds left on the timer rather than a lump of something green and seaweed-ish.

“Well, there is some debate among herbologists as to the effects of freshwater versus saltwater-”

“You're telling me this now? You must be joking.” Harry sighs.

“I just wanted to help.” Neville frowns, looking dejected. If Harry hadn’t felt so dejected himself because of his unpreparedness for the task and lack of snogging, he would probably feel bad.

“Good on you.” Ron claps Neville on the back. “I still think it’ll be fine and you shouldn’t have said anything. But, you know, if Harry dies, no one will blame you.”

Harry shakes his head at Ron as Neville goes significantly paler. “This still makes you loads more help than Ron and Hermione.” He offers in an attempt to comfort him.

“Hey! I was at least trying to find her- the woman has disappeared! Probably off with Krum.” He adds the last part with an angry mutter. Then, as if it just occurred to him, “What were  _ you  _ doing this whole time?”

“Did you?” Harry asks, ignoring the question. “Find her, I mean?”

“Well,  _ no, _ but-”

“Then you were entirely useless to me  _ and  _ Hermione.”

Ron grumbles something under his breath.

“You seem a little tense, Harry,” Neville says, his eyes darting between the two. He’s an incredibly sensitive and kind person, disliking any sort of tension between people; when Draco stopped tormenting any person he could manage, Neville was almost as pleased as Hermione, who had gone as far as having a  _ neutral  _ opinion on Draco after he apologized to her and helped the three of them out of harm's way at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Do I?”

The ride on the boat is entirely quiet except for the sound of Harry’s tapping foot against the bottom and the shouts of excitement growing louder as they neared the stand in the center of the lake, holding hundreds of Beauxbaton, Durmstang, and Hogwarts students. Harry keeps flipping the Gillyweed over in his hand, pondering where Draco could be. He’s somewhere on those stands, most likely flanked by his two larger friends, Crabbe and Goyle, or listening to Pansy’s incessant jabber. No matter how hard he tries, Harry can’t fathom why Draco would skip out on their plans. They had made them only last night. After hours of searching for ways to breathe underwater on opposite ends of the library to not make Ron and Hermione suspicious, the two of them managed to sneak off for a moment, where Harry had kissed Draco goodnight, and in return, Draco made the plans and went off to bed. A few minutes later, Hermione had left, too, when McGonagall came in to ask for her, leaving just Ron and Harry to struggle together.

Had that been it? Had kissing Draco goodnight been too much for him? Is whatever they have, teetering on the border of a relationship, over because Harry had gotten too close? That hadn’t been the first time Harry had kissed him goodbye. Unease pools in his stomach unhelpfully before this potentially life-threatening task.

He doesn’t know when he came to care so much for Draco, because it had happened gradually. There was no defining moment. He had simply woken up one day and found, at some point, he had gone from detesting Draco to realizing he couldn’t lose him- that losing him might be the worst thing in the world. Feelings like that were much too big for Harry. They were much easier to ignore, especially when Draco told him they could never be seen together.

And yet feeling like he’s lost him is insurmountably worse. Perhaps he’s being dramatic, and Draco just forgot. Maybe he’ll make brief eye contact with Draco before he plummets into the lake and he won’t have to  _ pretend _ that’s good enough because it  _ will  _ be good enough, because Draco looking at him means whatever they have isn’t over.

“Harry, come on.” He hears Ron say. He looks to the spot where Ron is sitting and finds that no one is there. Rather, his friend is standing on the dock in front of him and holding out his hand. Neville is already walking off, being greeted by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan.

“Sorry.” Harry apologizes and grabs Ron with his free hand. He helps him out of the boat.

Mad-Eye Moody is quick to spot them, telling them that they were almost late in his gravelly voice before ushering Harry to where the other competitors are, leaving Ron behind. Knowing Hermione, she would never miss seeing Harry compete. She has to be somewhere there, and hopeful Ron will find her so they could watch together. As Moody manhandles him through the crowd, Harry’s eyes dart around, desperate to find Draco. He even spots Crabbe and Goyle, but the two of them are without a third member. Harry’s heart sinks. Had Draco not even come to watch him?

He isn’t given any time to ponder this before the clear voice of Albus Dumbledore reverberates throughout the area, amplified by a charm that makes it sound as if he’s right next to Harry with a megaphone. “Welcome to the second task. Last night something was stolen from each of our champions. A treasure of sorts. These four treasures, one for each champion, now lie on the bottom of the black lake.” Harry wonders briefly what his treasure may be- he thinks of the last time he saw his invisibility cloak. Dumbledore had been the one who gave it to him, so he knows it’s in Harry’s possession. It’s possible he took it away. Maybe they had taken some Galleons? “In order to win, each champion need only find their treasure and return to the surface. Simple enough. Except for this, they will have one hour to do so and one hour only. After that, they'll be on their own.”

On their own? Does Dumbledore mean he’ll be leaving Harry and his Galleons at the bottom of the lake if he’s not up within the hour?

Mad-Eye Moody, who is just behind Harry, instructs. “Put that in your mouth.” It’s at that moment that Harry remembers what the slimy ball in his hand is there for: to eat. He pops it into his mouth, the flavor of salt and something remotely broccoli-like filling his mouth before he can even begin to chew. The second he does, it begins to get harder to breathe, and once he finally swallows, he’s practically gagging on the oxygen around him. Well, this is it. He’s going to die. All this time trying to stay alive, surviving the killing curse from the darkest wizard alive, Voldemort, and it’s  _ Neville Longbottom  _ who finally kills him.

Dumbledore’s voice, sounding much more far off than it did while Harry was breathing, supplies, “You may begin at the start of the cannon.”

Rough hands push him into the lake, the icy water feeling warm as the Gillyweed does its job, and against every instinct in his body-

He takes a breath.

_________

It made sense that his treasure was Draco. Harry rushes forward in the water, his now finned feet propelling him forward to his not-boyfriend’s floating body. Under the water, his pale skin looks green. Not even Draco, who Harry finds unbelievably attractive in Slytherin colors (all colors, really) can’t pull off the pale, greenish look someone gets when they’re unconscious a hundred feet under water. His hair, usually neatly slicked back or styled, is circling his head, the shocking white-blonde looking like a halo. Harry puts his hands on either side of Draco’s face, his heart beating fast. How long has he been underwater? Is Draco alright? Harry grips his shoulders to shake him, desperate for a response, but there isn’t even so much as a twitch. Hesitantly, he moves his fingers down to feel his pulse, finding one that is slower than usual, but steady. Next to him is Hermione, sharing the same conditions and equally unwilling to wake up. On her left is a small blonde girl he doesn’t recognize, and on the end is the Ravenclaw seeker who he had played some games against. He can’t recall her full name, though he knows her first is Cho because Cedric had taken her to the Yule Ball.

Harry had left the ball early, slipping out and hoping nobody noticed. Hermione and Ron did, of course, but Parvati Patil hadn’t paid any mind because she had ditched him once it was abundantly clear he wasn’t interested. He had met up with Draco in an abandoned corridor because-

Because they wanted to dance and nobody could see them together.

Harry’s blood runs cold.

He looks up. He’s so deep that he can’t really see anything above him, but he knows what’s up there: the majority of Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbaton.

And Harry has to swim up there with Draco or  _ let him drown. _

Will Draco be angry? There’s no way his self-preserving arse would rather die than reveal he’s in a relationship with him, but Harry can’t help but to feel this is the end of whatever they are. Harry will save him, Draco will make up some inventive excuse for why he was Harry’s treasure, and then he’ll never talk to him again. 

Harry looks around, waiting for the other victors. When none comes, he rushes to the lake floor to find a jagged rock, beginning to cut Draco free of the rope tying him down. It takes a while, but he manages- when he attempts to move onto Hermione, the mermaids encircling him raise their spears with hisses, forcing him to back off despite his protests. He doesn’t know what to do- Victor isn’t anywhere in sight for Hermione, the clock is nearing an hour, and there’s no way Harry is going to leave her at the bottom of the lake. Rushing water tells him that someone is approaching, and soon Cedric comes into view with the Bubblehead Charm wrapped securely around his face. His eyes flicker to Hermione, then Draco, and Harry watches his eyebrows pinch together as he tries to figure out what he’s looking at. Eventually, he must decide he doesn’t care. He shifts his attention to Cho, cuts her free with a knife he produced from his pocket- Harry should have thought to bring a knife- and swims to the surface, securing first place.

Second place would be alright, but there’s no way Harry is going to leave Hermione. He attempts to cut her free again, but is met with more hissing and threats from the mermaids that force him back. It’s just then that a poorly transfigured Krum comes rushing forward with a face that’s a cross between himself and a shark and almost bites Hermione’s legs off in an attempt to tear the rope. Imagining that Hermione prefers herself with legs, he offers his sharp rock to Krum who cuts her free with one tug and carries her to a surface without a second glance.

Third place. Harry looks behind him again- time is running out. Where is Fleur? If he doesn’t get Draco up, will the mermaids keep him there forever, until his skin becomes so pruned and bloated that he’s unrecognizable? Harry shakes him. Maybe if he wakes up, he can get himself to the surface and Harry can focus on the little girl.

Fleur still hasn’t come.

Harry makes the decision.

He holds on to Draco and rushes forwards, cutting the girl free as quick as he can, doing his best to avoid the screaming and scratching of the intervening mermaids, hissing that she’s not his treasure and that he’s breaking the rules. He doesn’t care. There’s no way he could leave this little girl to die any more than he could leave Draco. Pulling his wand and threatening to hex the lot of them seems to do the trick.

The effort of carrying them both to the surface while he feels his gills close up and flippers turn back to feet painfully squeezes his lungs, making his vision turn spotty and black around the edges. The lack of oxygen pulls at his chest. He rises through the water, and as he gets closer to the surface, the sunlight breaking through the murkiness illuminates the lake around him. His passengers are still tugged close to his chest, absolutely no help, but it’s possible he’s going to make it-

Water rushes upwards around him. Or, rather, he rushes downwards in the water as what feels like the tentacles of a hundred Grindylows wrap around his ankles with their slimy but firm grip. It’s all he can do to shove Draco and the girl up to the surface, hoping enough luck and kicking his legs will be enough to allow him to follow. He jerks his knees upwards, attempting to get them to relinquish their grip, but it just pulls the angry water demons along with him. He continues kicking, clawing upwards, desperate for air- his  _ wand,  _ he needs his to use his  _ wand.  _ With the last shred of air he has left shouts “Relashio!” and points it directly at the sickly green monsters. The effect is immediate. They lose their grip on his ankle, springing backward and giving Harry enough time to force himself up to the surface.

Harry breaks through, his priority being to draw large, deep gulps of oxygen into his burning lungs. The cheering reverberating around the lake is the first thing he can process once he’s finally able to breathe again, filling him with the pride of a victor, even though he knows he placed third. The next thing he processes isn’t quite as pleasant- namely, that Draco had just appeared as Harry’s treasure in front of the whole school. Yards ahead of him and bobbing in the water are two blonde heads, the lighter of the pair easily identifiable as Draco trailing behind the small girl he believes to be Fleur’s sister. Harry watches Draco’s hand on her back to stabilize her as she climbs the ladder to Fleur, who had scrambled to the side of the dock to greet her. Draco grabs the ladder himself, next, but instead of climbing it, he turns to look over his shoulder.

He’s looking at Harry, now.

They make eye contact.

It’s more than enough. It’s not enough at all.

Harry begins to paddle forward and Draco takes this as a sign to pull himself out of the water. He’s met by Pansy Parkinson holding a fluffy mint towel, and he can decipher her screeching “Draco! Draco!  _ What?” _ even with the roar of the still cheering crowd. He watches Draco shrug her off and turn back to face Harry as he swims nearer, although he does graciously accept it when Pansy makes a show of draping the towel over his shivering frame.

Harry ascends the ladder into the frigid air and isn’t surprised to see Ron with a soaking Hermione shoving their ways toward him, Hermione’s arm adorned with a blue towel. She throws it around him as he sits down, his legs feeling weak, omitting him a proper greeting. She doesn’t ask any questions- yet- because Ron had gotten to it first, aghast.

“Malfoy, and not me?” He’s saying. As he does so, Harry can hear shouts of victory and compliments swarm him, along with slams on the back from his friends and admirers. He can hear Seamus Finnigan clearly, which means Dean and Neville are most likely somewhere in the mix, too. He’ll have to thank Neville for the Gillyweed- he had been restraining from doing so until he knew it would work and not send him towards death by drowning. “-that’s got to be a mistake, right? Unless you really like a good rivalry. Blimey, why didn't you just leave him at the bottom of the lake? Winning can’t mean that much- honestly, that’s better than the one thousand galleons-”

“Harry, that was  _ brilliant!” _ Hermione seems to reach her threshold for tolerating Ron’s babble, so now her hands are rapidly moving up and down Harry’s arms in an attempt to warm him up even though she looks cold herself. Behind her, Fleur is rapidly speaking to Draco in French while swathing him in kisses. Draco says something back, also in French, and that’s the last of the encounter that Harry can focus on because Hermione begins to talk again. “I mean, I assume it was. I didn’t get to see anything, but from what everyone is saying- oh!” She pauses abruptly.

Standing in front of Harry, looking down upon him, is Draco Malfoy. Rather than the fond look he had been accustomed to seeing, Draco is wearing an expression of disdain. If he hadn’t gotten to know Draco as well as he has, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the smirk that grows on his face as mockingly complains, “I’m wet, Potter.”

Hermione’s eyebrows pinch together. “Listen, we don’t know why it was  _ you-” _

_ “I’m _ perfectly aware of why, Granger, thank you very much,” Draco says cleanly. His tone of finality makes Harry think of a Christmas present, cleanly wrapped and ready to go- no further discussion. Don’t open until Christmas. Hermione’s mouth snaps shut. Her arms, which had still been moving up and down to warm Harry, had stilled. “Well, why?” She looks between the two of them.

Draco’s face breaks out into a grin before he rushes out, “Because he’s obsessed with me, that’s why.” He manages to jump backward just in time for Harry to miss what would have been a well-aimed kick to his shins.

“Oh, sod off!” Harry calls. Pansy, who was just a step behind Draco and eyeing Professor Moody, who was eyeing the two of them right back, hits Draco’s arm. He ignores this, instead opting to continue teasing. Harry’s heart slams in his chest- isn’t he being a little obvious? Then again, wasn’t Harry pulling Draco out of the lake even more blatantly so? Maybe they could play it off with Ron’s idea about liking a rivalry, and Harry will say he just likes having someone to butt heads with. That’s perfect. He’ll just say it was supposed to be a test of his moral fiber because that’s what he really treasures the most. Ron and Hermione- the whole Wizarding World, really- would eat that up. That would work, wouldn’t it? 

Draco’s face softens from his borderline cruel sneer that would have made any passerby walk the opposite direction, not wanting to get caught in the middle of a fight, to the same look that frequents his face right after they pull out of a kiss and gaze at each other stupidly. “Am I really your  _ treasure,  _ Harry?”

Harry knows how genuine that question is, even if Draco hides it. He wants to stand up and scream, “ _Yes, Draco Malfoy, you’re my treasure! It’s you! Why did it take you being dunked in a lake to understand that I’m in love with you?”_

But he says nothing, not wanting to give away anything Draco doesn’t want to. He pulls his towel closer around himself as Hermione leans closer to him and mutters, “Harry?”

“Is this how you felt after Ginevra Weasley sent you that horrid singing valentine your second year? Mortified and cold?” Draco says. Pansy slaps a hand to her face, smothering a guffaw.

“Hey!” Ron snaps, his face visibly showing that he's confused by the shift in tone when he had been expecting a fight. Not looking to start one with so many professors present, he meekly retaliates, “Only  _ I’m _ allowed to make fun of Ginny’s horrid singing valentine.”

Draco barks out laughing and, with the crowd of people surrounding them and the swell of deafening cheers singing in the background, he reaches forward to cup either side of Harry’s jaw. His towel falls off his shoulders and crumples on the floor, but Draco’s grinning because he doesn’t care; he looks glorious with the sunlight gleaming against him, his damp hair plastered to his forehead, and the biting chill of the air making everything seem sharper and more real; it’s with unwavering certainty that Draco Malfoy leans forward and presses his lips against Harry’s.

Everything melts away.

He doesn’t have to pretend anymore, it seems.

Harry’s hand finds its way to rest comfortably against Draco, and he kisses back.

**Author's Note:**

> i've always been a sucker for relationship reveals... thank you for reading! comments and kudos are so appreciated <3


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